Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  He shakes his head as the images fade from his mind and he becomes more conscious of his surroundings. His heart still pounds in his chest and there is a lingering feeling of excitement. With it is a fear that one has upon suddenly finding oneself in a different place.

  What the fuck is that all about? What in the fuck is happening to me? He thinks as he turns from the door leading into the warehouse and makes his way back upstairs. Falling onto his cot, he wonders if he will experience the terror dreams or find himself waking downstairs again. With these thoughts, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

  I rise early remembering that I woke at some point last night with a strange sensation. It felt as if something brushed my mind. It wasn’t like a thought or anything similar, it was as if something literally brushed up against it. It didn’t keep me up long but the memory of it still lingers. Lynn stirs beside me and rolls over. Usually she is the first up and it’s me rolling over to ignore the world and get more sleep. I grab my boots and exit as quietly as I can to let her sleep on. She’s been keeping this whole thing together and needs her rest.

  A few others are emerging from their little caves and do the usual morning stretching before trudging slowly to wherever their tired brains lead them. Some to eat, others to the showers. I head down to the small control room and ask if anything showed up on the monitors last night. I have just the ghost of a memory that what brushed my mind felt similar to a night runner. The woman monitoring the video feeds from the cameras looks through the logs.

  “I didn’t see anything and the logs don’t indicate that anything was observed,” she reports. I nod and thank her.

  Walking out with the thought of taking a shower to clear the last of the cobwebs, I look up to see Lynn emerge from the cubicle. Upon seeing me, she gives a tired waved and makes her way down to me.

  “Good morning, hon,” I say, giving her a hug.

  “Good morning, Jack. You’re up early,” she says, returning a quick hug.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” I state and tell her of the sensation I experienced.

  “What do you think it means?” She asks, drawing away.

  “I have no idea. This ‘thing’ seems to be more of a liability than an asset. It confuses me more than it lends any clarification. I just wish I knew more about it and understood it better,” I answer.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out as time goes on, Jack. On another note, I was thinking and if you’re going to go on this search, you might as well start sooner rather than later. The ones in training will be finished in a number of days and are already trained enough to help should we need them. And the inner wall will be complete soon as well. We’ll be fine here and you delaying your trip a few days just to wait for them isn’t going to accomplish anything. The sooner you start, the quicker you’ll be back,” she says.

  “You’re probably right about that. Leonard is due to arrive today and I want to be there to see what his plans are. I also have to run the numbers with the Stryker on board but can do that today. Regardless of which we decide to take, we could be ready to leave tomorrow,” I reply.

  “I’m still not all that excited about you leaving but I know you have to. The only plus is that this will hopefully be your last trip,” she says.

  “I know and, believe me, I’m not a big fan of leaving either. I don’t like being away from you. Nor am I all that thrilled at giving the night runners a chance to recover. But it is only for a few days and I’ll be back before you know it,” I respond.

  “I love you, Jack.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Coming out of the shower, there is a little more bustle inside from people getting ready to get on with the day and whatever assigned tasks they may have. Frank informs me that Leonard radioed in that he is sailing down the straits and should arrive in Olympia shortly. Bannerman is with the supply crews making sure they are ready while the teams gather for their morning formation and training. Close to two hundred and fifty people gathered under the roof makes for quite a din. It is definitely over-crowded, especially with everyone trying to get in a shower or grab something to eat.

  Gathering Black and Red Team together, along with Bannerman, Frank, and the crews transporting the supplies, we head out for our rendezvous with Leonard. I’m hoping he can dock in Olympia as I’d rather not take the time to drive to Tacoma. I have a lot to do to get ready if we’re going to leave in the morning on our little venture. If the numbers line up, I’d like to get the Stryker loaded today so we can be ready to leave first thing in the morning. The overcast and broken clouds of the previous days are absent and we are greeted with clear skies although a brisk breeze is blowing.

  I am struck by how tall the grass in the median is. It and the tops of the fir trees bend with each gust that blows through. A red-tailed hawk swoops down from one of the trees and plummets into the tall reeds lining the Interstate. It appears moments later with something small grasped in its talons. One life ends so that another may continue.

  Pieces of paper and a few leaves are pushed along the windswept streets of town as our convoy of vehicles makes its way through. Packed dirt, sand, and debris lie in the recessed doorways of the buildings. Windows, which once were the dreaded duty of employees to clean on a daily basis, are streaked with grime to the point that the displays sitting just inside are barely visible. The stenciled or decaled store signs on the doors and windows, along with a myriad of taped advertisements, are close to becoming unreadable. The city is quickly decaying.

  Emerging from the city proper, we pass by the boarded up building that housed the once busy Saturday Market. I guess all produce will be organically grown from here on out, I think as we pass and drive down the crumbling street to the single dock that serves Olympia. Only one ship lies tied to the large pier jutting out into the waters of the south Puget Sound. The thick lines that keep the ship connected to the dock will eventually rot and the ship will then be at the mercy of the tides, either floating out into the large body of water or crashing into the boats docked in the marina. Those will also eventually become free and I have an image of boats piled up on the shores with the large cargo vessel leaning amongst them.

  Driving onto the concrete dock itself, I see the sleek black outlines of the Santa Fe making its way toward us in the choppy waters. I exchange radio calls with Leonard and he informs us that there is enough room to dock and he will pull into shore here. We wait in on the pier with our pant legs and shirt sleeves flapping in the brisk wind.

  The sub eventually nestles next to the pier and we toss heavy mooring lines to the waiting crew. Maneuvering a make-shift gangplank into position, Leonard and some of his crew meet us on the dock. Bannerman organizes our crew and soon supplies are being handed over and stowed below.

  Leonard tells his story of the past three days and nights and I fill him in on ours. I begin to mention our plan to search for any surviving family members. He stops me and pulls me to the side.

  “I’d rather not have my crew hear about your plans to look for families, Captain. That will only spur them to want to look for theirs and right now, I need a tight crew. I would be interested in hearing what you find out but, please, before you exchange that information, make sure I am the only one listening,” Leonard says once we are out of earshot of everyone else.

  “I completely understand and have my own uneasiness about leaving. But we promised the soldiers we would try when we could and we don’t have that long before our window closes. We only have a few months before the fuel goes bad and the weather will be closing in soon. And, I’ll be sure to relay any information to you only,” I reply.

  “That would be much appreciated, Captain. Speaking of communication, we should test the satellite comms,” he says.

  We break out the satellite phones Bannerman gathered from the base and, much to my surprise, we are able to make contact with them. This will also open up the ability to communicate with Lynn and the others while we are off on our little jaunt. I’m surprised
I didn’t think of that earlier as that was our main method of communication while out in the field. I guess I just assumed that, with the downfall of civilization, the satellites wouldn’t be functional for long. That alleviates one big worry. I was always worried that something would happen to us while flying across the country and we wouldn’t be able to let the others back here know. I had no doubt we could return as vehicles lie in abundance, but the time delay would cause worry at home.

  “What are your plans?” I ask, watching another load of supplies make their way up the gangway.

  “I think we’ll head down the western seaboard and check out some of the smaller coastal towns and ports along the way. I’d like to take a look at San Francisco and LA with the eventual goal of checking out San Diego. I’ll then evaluate whether to sail over to Hawaii at that point. If there are any naval assets still functioning, they’d be there but after observing Bangor, Whidbey, and Seattle, I have my doubts as to whether we’ll find anything,” he replies.

  “Okay. Keep in mind that we have aviation assets that can come assist if you need although Hawaii would be a stretch,” I say.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Captain. And thanks for everything. I know we may not have hit it off well and we still have a certain discussion coming, but thanks. I appreciate you digging into your stock and allowing us to resupply,” Leonard responds.

  “It’s the least we could do. Just so you know, we tossed in enough weapons and ammo to arm your crew,” I state.

  “Thanks again,” he says, reaching out his hand.

  It takes time but the supplies are eventually handed over and stored. We shake hands all around and Leonard and his crew head on board. The gangway is removed and lines pulled back. The Santa Fe backs out of the docks, turns, and begins making its way across the waters, parting the waves. The figures observing from the bridge grow smaller. We watch as the black sub, far into the sound, turns north. It disappears around the point by Boston Harbor as it slowly makes its long trek to the open seas.

  We head back and I spend most of the morning going over take off and flying data to include the weight of the Stryker. The Stryker is below the payload limitations for the 130 and the numbers look good. The only constraint will be our range which will be shortened to around one thousand miles. None of our legs come close to that distance so we should be okay. The only thing that sticks in my mind is if we find other survivors. With the Stryker on board and with the additional fuel we’ll take along for it, we’ll be restricted to eighty passengers. That puts the 130 right at its max parameters and I’ve never been enthusiastic about operating an aircraft right at its maximum weight limitations. Those are made up from engineers using new aircraft. Yes, there are the usual twenty percent margins thrown in but still.

  Gathering Red Team and some of the others that are going on the picnic with us, we head up to McChord to see if we can fit a Stryker in a 130 without knocking holes in the fuselage. After a few attempts and close calls, which involved yells, screams, and madly waving arms, we manage to get the behemoth parked snugly inside and tied down. Late in the afternoon, Roger returns from his search for local survivors. I’m notified that the pickup crews found eight additional survivors in the north Tacoma area. I’m surprised that we found any given the vast numbers of night runners we observed the other night. It’s heartening news and lends hope that we’ll be able to find even more. It’s great to have an additional pilot that can help out with the searches.

  We meet that evening and I lay out my planned trip once again informing everyone of being able to take the Stryker along. Weather, and everything else permitting, the trip will take ten to eleven days. Picking up an additional gunship will be nice as we don’t have any maintenance personnel who can conduct inspections on a 130. That would be a wonderful pickup but it’s not that we can use aircraft for much longer anyway.

  Bannerman notes that the inner wall should be finished with the coming day and then they’ll start on the towers and apartment building foundations. He also mentions having crews begin to clean up the rubble created from our nightly poundings and starting to take down the trees. Counting our supplies, he tells us we should have more than enough to make it through the winter. There are literally tons of supplies in the one distribution center and if needed, there is another one some distance to the south.

  “Any word on our ability to create bio fuels?” I ask.

  “We’ve been stockpiling the used oils from the kitchen. As far as actually making it, well, that’s a different story. I think I’ll have to see if the libraries we’ve spared have any information. That will mean we’ll have to go inside and search,” Bannerman answers. There is a moment of silence as we know what that possible means — another venture into a darkened building and possible night runner lair.

  “Well, if we have to, then we have to,” Horace comments. “I’ll take my team in if we need to go.”

  “Let’s visit that once we finish with the current training class. We’ll have another team online then,” Lynn responds.

  “I have a potentially tricky topic to bring up. I was approached today by several individuals asking about religious services,” Frank says.

  I thought the group went silent thinking about heading into a darkened night runner lair but Frank’s comment brings an absolute dead quiet. I should have actually anticipated this but my mind has been working in other directions lately. I am fully open to any religious preference and individual beliefs. It’s the organization of it that worries me. It has the potential to tear a line of separation within our survivor group if there is any degree of fanaticism that goes along with it. Believe me, I am completely open and have my own beliefs but they are my own and belong to me only. I want people to have their own set of beliefs but it’s the potential of developing the “I am right and you are wrong” division that worries me. Many wars have been started because of that mentality and I’d rather not have a defined separation amongst us.

  “Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m certainly not against it,” I reply. The rest voice similar thoughts.

  “Do we have anyone, I guess qualified, to lead services? I mean, anyone can worship however they see fit. I mean, up to a point. I’m not all that big on gutting small animals and the like,” I state.

  “I’m not sure of that to be honest. I was just approached and asked whether we planned on having any,” Frank replies.

  “I suppose if we have a priest or minister, or the ones who asked know of any, we can definitely incorporate that. As long as everyone knows we still have work to do and can’t really afford to be taking days off at this point,” I say.

  “I’ll check around and see,” Frank says.

  “One thing though, and this is my only worry about something like this, I don’t want this to create a fracture within our group. Worship and praise as one likes but I don’t want it to develop into one’s religious preferences being forced on others,” I say.

  “If I can interject here and this may not sound right or come across in the right way, but, we also can’t afford to have religion dictate or interfere with our leadership. Whether that is in our style of leadership or with the decisions we make. We make our decisions based on our best chances of survival at this point and that sometimes leads to hard or unpopular decisions,” Drescoll states.

  And, there’s an elephant that just entered the room. We have an entity established by our leadership and allowing another entity to exist creates the potential for conflict. Of course, who am I to say people can’t congregate together for religious preferences, just as long as that thought process is one of openness and tolerance for others. I may be getting way ahead of myself in my thinking though. After all, it’s only a few people that asked if there was a plan for having religious services. Ugh! I feel like just handing the reins over now and heading off for sunny beaches.

  “While I agree with that, I also don’t see anything wrong with having services for those who want it. If they find someon
e who wants to and can lead them, then by all means, let them. They’ll just have to organize them around our already set schedules,” I say.

  “I’ll let them know at one of our nightly training classes,” Frank replies.

  “And on another lovely note, I’m off to bed,” Lynn says. “Coming, Jack.”

  My cat-like reflexes serve me well as I’m out of the chair before my mind or body even registers it. Lynn and I spend the night talking and, well… then talk further before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  She is startled awake after having just dropped off into a deep sleep. The hunt was long and she is tired from running far into the night. It was a good hunt and her pack ate well but her legs ache a little and she feels exhausted. She glances around to find what woke her out of her slumber and sniffs the air. She catches a scent of prey nearby.

  Although her hunger has already been sated, her mouth begins to salivate and her stomach rumbles ever so slightly. It’s both a sweet and musky scent at the same time. She knows this scent but hasn’t smelled it in some time. It’s the odor that emanates from the two-legged ones. Confused that it is coming from so close in the large lair, she turns her head sharply toward where the odor is coming. She sees a two-legged one, appearing much like her own kind dressed in torn and ragged clothing, standing off to one side looking around in a confused manner.

  A low growl issues from her throat. The scent that comes to her nostrils evokes an overpowering rage and hunger. A thirst that can’t be satisfied. She rises and, not able to control herself, emits a loud shriek. The two-legged one flinches, and takes off at a run toward one of the walls of the lair. Others around her wake in a flash and begin sniffing at the air. They pick up the smell that woke her and soon the room is filled with shrieks that echo off the concrete brick walls. Catching sight of the fleeing one, they chase after it. They are behind her though as she began running after it as soon as the two-legged one began running.